


Recommendations

by QueenieWrites



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, No Angst, Trump Bashing, or maybe like 40 seconds of it, seriously do not read it if the orange twinkle being bashed offends you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19262143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenieWrites/pseuds/QueenieWrites
Summary: Twitter is a strange place. But once in a while, you connect with someone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a @mrs-captain-evans 2,5K Followers Writing Challenge on Tumblr. Congratulations on the milestone and here’s for 2,5K more!
> 
> I chose “Well, this is awkward…” as my prompt because as I was scrolling through the options the scene that particular scene just jumped at me.
> 
> There will be a lot of Trump bashing at the beginning of this story. If you’re offended then maybe this isn’t a story you should read.
> 
> All rules regarding verified accounts and how they behave were taken from Twitter.com.

It all started innocently enough.

Chris had opened Twitter to post a video of Dodger playing with his stuffed lion, knowing his dog was a fan favorite, when Trump decided to give his opinion on a National Geographic article about Global Warming.

GOD, he was a moron. A dumb, squinty-eyed, toupee wearing, orange moron. Chris seethed as he clicked on retweet with comment and called out the man he had the displeasure of calling President.

A few seconds later his notifications started to pop up. He switched tabs to Mentions and Replies where thousands of retweets with GIFs and other memes were pouring in before he filtered the tab so only verified accounts were shown. Mark retweeted his reply, Don wrote a snarky and an awesome comeback, Ellen Page tore the man a new one and an MIT professor he met during a flight home to Boston mentioned him and your account as _prime examples of the generation who could make a change_. He liked some favorites, retweeted a few others and was about to close the app when a new mention popped up, this time from your account, thanking your mentor and sharing a blurb about being cool because you were now linked to Captain America.

Curiosity got the best of him and Chris clicked on your handle. The header was a picture of Diagon Alley at the Warner Brother’s Harry Potter Tour in London and the picture to the side was of a woman dressed up as a Gryffindor student, wand, scarf and a pointed hat. He noticed you were also a verified account and your small bio read ‘Y/N, 30something.’, ‘You can be anything you aspire to be. I chose to be a nerd’ and ‘Director of Media Studies at MIT’.

 _That is an interesting combination_ , he thought while looking through your latest tweets. Chris immediately found your own retweet of the orange moron and he laughed when you called him a dweeb, deeming the man unworthy of being president of your dog’s agility class, much less president of your country. You also quoted him in a series of articles that could be found at the Congress Library website and citing other articles from different countries, asking him to please trade his Rich Richie comics for something an actual president needed to know ‘You know, like Obama’.

You had an incredibly sharp mind for a woman who spent her free time dressing up as a fictional character, he thought before shaking his head when he looked down at his costume. Yeah, better not judge.

Chris spent a good chunk of his downtime between takes that day going through your tweets. Every time his PA called him to block a new scene or to film a close-up, he would carefully lock the phone without closing the app so he wouldn’t have to scroll down again.

Later that day he was back on his trailer resting, they wouldn’t be going home that night till the first Thanos fight scene was over but he was now free of his Captain America clothes and could relax. He took a shower in the small trailer bathroom, put on a loose pair of boxers and picked up his phone again, opening the Twitter app, happy to see it was exactly where he left.

Chris was now looking at your tweets from two years ago. He scrolled down on some retweets, mostly articles about social media and its influence on people, thoughts about the latest Game of Thrones episode, a tweet about watching Captain America: The Winter Soldier again after the results of the presidential election and how it had changed your views of the movie and a trip to London to guest lecture on a seminar in Oxford, with a link to watch your lecture on Youtube.  You’re funny, witty, and after watching your lecture on Book to Movies Adaptions: Bridging the Gap in the Fourth Dimension, he realized he was enthralled not only by your pretty eyes and lush lips but also with your mind.

He saw pictures of your adopted one-eyed blue merle Cardigan Welsh Corgi aptly named Captain Hook which you confessed was rarely used because you liked to call him Hooker, calling his name out loud around Cambridge Square just to get a reaction out of people. He laughed long and hard imagining you walking up and down Tudor Street asking if anyone had seen a one-eyed Hooker prancing around.

He worried his bottom lip for a moment before closing the app and opening up Safari quickly founding what he was looking for on his saved links. A new window opened and Twitter.com was now on his screen but instead of the usual @chrisevans handle, the account belonged to @BostonBrains81.

The Patriots logo stared back at him from the top of the page and a random shot of the crowd in one of the home games stood over a simple bio: Boston. Beer. Patriots.

The account he used to interact with his friends back home, like their baby pictures, sign in to various sites and go even crazier over the Patriots than he normally would on his main.

He looked nervously around his trailer before he searched for your handle, clicking the _follow_ button before he lost his courage.

_You are now following @Y/H_

Was he really going through with this? His index finger hovered over the reply button on your latest tweet, the one where he was also mentioned.

“Ok Chris, you can do this.”

 **BostonBrains81** @Y/H you’re a lot cooler than Captain America. Wicked answer to the resident Oompa-Loompa, but I gotta ask, you think he knows how to read?

There, he did it.

_

That had been the first of the many 280 characters conversations you had with each other.

At first, you wondered if he was just a creep that followed you because Professor Travis mentioned you and Chris Evans on the same post; you had gained almost a thousand followers because of that, but they quickly unfollowed you when you didn’t gush about Chris Evans or they realized you didn’t actually know the actor. Not @BostonBrains81 though, he stuck around, commenting on some old articles you shared, liking all the pictures of Hooker you posted and even replied to the one where you shared his name asking if calling out for a Hooker in Cambridge had you stopped for solicitation at any point. You laughed at his joke and decided to follow him back.

The guy, you assumed it was a guy, was incredibly intelligent, always had a smart comeback to your jokes and could make you laugh in less than 100 characters. You shared most of the same views, from politics to music and books, the only point of contention was football. He was probably the biggest Patriots fan you had ever met and you being originally from the west coast was a Seattle Seahawks fan. He told you he had a working buddy who was a huge Seahawks fan as well and they had watched the Superbowl together in Arizona a few years back.

He’d ask you for a new book recommendation every few weeks and confessed his line of work had him waiting around quite a bit. You believed he was a flight attendant because he more than once replied to you from different parts of the country. You wondered if you should let him know the location settings were turned on.

You quickly got into a routine of checking his page to see if he was online that day and a little over two months since you first ‘talked’, you moved on to Direct Messages and conversation become more serious. Thoughts on religion, the #MeToo movement, gay rights, all were candidly discussed and you now actively sought his opinions on some of the subjects you taught your classes.

For a flight attendant, the man had some strong opinions and knew how to keep a conversation going. You chastised yourself for your classism, _just because he had a blue-collar job didn’t mean he couldn’t have a sophisticated mind_.

 _Some people are incredibly well educated and never set foot inside a college corridor,_ you remembered Professor Travis lecturing an advanced Media class you sat as his aide. _Take Captain America for an example, I met the young man who portrays the superhero during a recent flight from Atlanta to Boston and I was highly impressed. He could very well be a post-doctorate student here, but he chose to follow his own footsteps to Hollywood and I thank him for it. I quite enjoy the dichotomy he brings to his portrayal of Captain America and Steve Rogers during The Winter Soldier and Civil War. If you haven’t, please watch those movies as we’ll be discussing them in our next class._

Professor Travis had been your theses supervisor and was one of your closest friends, even though he was thirty years your senior. The man had one of the sharpest minds you knew and his classes on _Comic Books and the Juxtaposition to Modern Politics_ was always full, with a waiting list that never got any smaller. You usually sat those classes as his aide and he called on you often to share your views on what the media contributed to the political storm brewing on the horizon and what comic books contributed to that. Captain America had become one of Travis favorite subjects as of late, the whole Hydra and Nazis making a comeback after the last presidential election.

The fact Chris Evans engaged in politics and wasn’t afraid to speak up his mind played a huge part in why you started following him after Professor Travis met the guy. Sure, the man was eye candy to your often-tired eyes but he had a lot to offer than just those huge biceps, that amazing tight ass, and that soft-looking facial hair. You got a kick of his self-deprecating humor and once or twice you had jointed down a few books he mentioned and truly enjoyed them.

It was a really nice coincidence @BostonBrains81 had read them as well.

By the end of summer you were feeling lonely and thinking of asking another professor out. You wanted a male opinion on the idea, preferably one not in the same circle of friends and your best online friend was just the person to ask.

**Well, does he make you feel nervous?**

No, why would he made me feel nervous? He’s a very nice guy.

**See, if you’re not nervous around him that means he doesn’t make you feel anything. If you don’t feel anything for the guy, why waste your time? And a nice guy? God, that’s the worst thing a woman can say about a man. A nice guy is as bad as saying a girl is okay. Is she beautiful? Meh, she’s okay. Does he melt your insides? Meh, he’s a very nice guy.**

Seems like you gave this a lot of thought.

**I’ve had more girlfriends than… jobs. When I broke up with the last one, I decided to wait for the right woman instead of getting into another destined to fail relationship. There’s no shame in stepping back and deciding you’re worthy of more than just an okay girl.**

Or a nice guy.

 **Exactly**.

Being alone is not easy though. We jump from one relationship to the next because we’re already used to the normalcy of having that steady presence in our lives. It doesn’t matter if we know that person isn’t right for us or they might even be prejudicial for us in the long run. The relationship fills a void we don’t like, that feeling there’s something wrong with us because we can’t maintain a partner.

**Who let you in my head when I wasn’t looking?**

Sorry for getting too deep.

**You’re absolutely right though.**

Thanks for the talk, no dates with nice guys from now on.

**Don’t go for the bad guys either.**

Well, that considerably narrows the option pool. Who am I dating then?

**How about me?**

Good one funny boy.

**What’s wrong with me?**

Barring the fact that I don’t even know your real name and you could very well be catfishing me, not much.

**Catfishing?**

You know, trying to make me believe you’re someone you’re not.

**.**

You there?

**Sorry. Yeah, I’m definitely not trying to make you believe I’m anyone but myself. Name’s Chris by the way.**

Nice to meet you, Chris, I’m Y/N.

Your conversations with @BostonBrains81, better yet, Chris, were now a daily occurrence and included questions about your daily lives and personal family stuff, Chris had three siblings, the youngest had been adopted and you spent a whole afternoon discussing the effects of adoptions on both the family and the child, you commended his parents for going through the processes and he opened his heart about normalizing the girl when she first came to live with them but now she was his favorite sister and he couldn’t imagine life without Shanna in it. He told you about moving away from home at eighteen to pursue his dream job, you shared how difficult adapting to Boston was at first but how you couldn’t see yourself living anywhere else now. He confided in you his work had him burned out a little and how much he missed home. Since his location had been stationed in Atlanta for the past three weeks, you deduced he worked for Delta Airlines.

**Hey, you there? Can we talk?**

Sure, I’m just lounging, you good?

**I’m still at work, everyone is being a dick today and I’m having a hard time coping, plus I’m tired and a little cranky.**

I’m sorry. Coworkers can be a pain in the ass sometimes, no matter what the field. Have you tried the exercises you told me about?

**Yes. More than once. They seem to work for a while but then I have to head back in and someone else decides it’s his turn to be a dick. And now the… execs are here and they want to change some of the stuff that’s already done so that means more work and more dick-headed people all around.**

When it’s your turn?

**Uh?**

Well, since everyone is having a bad day, why can’t you lash out? Be a dick too?

**It’s never my turn. Chris is always the good guy, Chris is never a diva.**

You don’t need to be a diva to demand respect. Demand respect while being respectful, but put your foot down. The old _you get more flies with honey_. Do you need to be there?

**I’m supposedly done for the day.**

So go home, take a bath, sleep in clean sheets. I know how hard it is to turn off work, sometimes I stay in my office for hours after I’m my shift, but it’s not healthy. If they truly need you, they know where to find you.

**They do yeah.**

Go home, Chris. Pass on the shield.

**What?**

Like Captain America did in the comics. Let someone else do the job.

**Oh. Okay, yeah, that makes sense.**

I make a lot of sense when I’m drinking wine.

**So your advice comes from your inebriated mind?**

I’m hardly inebriated. It’s one glass of wine while reading a book in the bathtub. This is my _me_ time.

**I’m sorry for interrupting your _naked me_ time. Thanks for the visual though, it’ll help me with my own _time_ when I get home.**

Go home, Chris. It’s the wine’s order.

You were now on a territory you swore you’d never slipped into; flirting with a stranger online. You tried to talk yourself out of it, tried to curb this insane idea manifesting inside your head and your heart, you were a scholar for goodness sake, you taught your students to never engage romantically online, therefore, you should know better.

You most certainly didn’t.

**I’d like to take you out for coffee sometime, you could show me around MIT.**

Maybe. When you get back from Atlanta, let me know.

**How do you know I’m in Atlanta?**

Your location setting is turned on.

**Is it? Damn.**

Yeah, I should have told you sooner. Working for Delta Airlines must nice though.

**Yeah… I guess. Blue collar job though.**

Don’t be like that, you should not be ashamed of what you do for a living. If it makes you happy, it’s all that matters.

**You’re right, I’m pretty happy doing what I do. So, coffee?**

Sure. I usually get my caffeine fix from ‘Bean there, Doughnut That’ over at Arrow St. It’s always full of students.

**Smart girl, going for a place where you can find a friendly face if we don’t get along.**

That, and you could be a serial killer, I need witnesses to remember your face. It’s not like I *really* know you.

**I look forward to changing that. I’ll be home after Columbus Day. Could we meet then?**

Yes, sure. I want to finally put a face to the man I’ve talking for the past four months. It’s a date.

**A date uh? I like that. I like that very much. I hope you like my face when you see it, I kinda have an ugly mug.**

I’m sure your face is fine. Besides, I already like your personality and that’s the part I always have trouble with.

Checking Twitter had become your new guilty pleasure and you’d close the app with a frown if Chris didn’t post anything every few days, exactly what was happening right now.

He had been offline for a whole week and you missed your usual banter, his witty sense of humor and how he took to calling you Professor Hottie. The Patriots lost the second game of the season and you wanted to gloat a little but most of all you just wanted to know if he was okay.

Biting your lip, you clicked on the direct message button.

Been a while since you’ve been online, did you get lost on the way back from Boston Market?

I see that you turned off your location sharing. Was I being too stalkerish?

I guess you’re busy or maybe you just don’t want to talk to me. I’ll leave you be.

Had you come on too strong? Did you sounded desperate and scared him off? You read your past conversations and nothing sounded too eager on your part, maybe he just wasn’t interested anymore.

Well, that was that.

You sighed and refreshed your home page one last time, checking your latest tweets and was surprised to see a new Tweet from Chris Evans, another Chris who had been MIA lately.

 **ChrisEvans** Officially wrapped on Avengers 4. It was an emotional day, to say the least. Playing this role over the last 8 years has been an honor. To everyone in front of the camera, behind the camera, and in the audience, thank you for the memories! Eternally grateful.

Interacting with celebrities were never really your thing but you would miss Captain America, you were sure they would have to kill him if Evans would not play the iconic soldier anymore, so you took a chance and clicked on reply.

 **Y/H** @chrisevans thanks for making Cap cool again, you made him justice and gave the tired soldier a new and improved multifaceted personality. We’re gonna miss him.

Satisfied with your chosen words you smiled as you hit send. You got a few likes notification right away, some of your students and MIT faculty retweeted your post, Professor Travis included.

 **ChrisEvans** @y/h thank you. Having people like you and @TravisMIT giving Cap your stamp of approval certainly makes me think I did a good job.

Wide eyes blinked back to the screen when you read his response. He not only thanked you but for some reason he held your opinion to a higher standard? How was that possible?

Your mentions exploded with people asking you similar questions and you had to switch to verified account only to stop the barrage of notifications for new tweets coming through.

Your phone beeped with a new direct message and a small glimpse of hope that your Chris was back made you forget about Evans.

**Hey, sorry for the disappearance act, work has been crazy lately. You’re definitely not stalkerish, that title actually belongs to yours truly but I’ll tell you more over coffee. Don’t ever think I don’t want to talk to you, our conversations are the highlight of my days. I missed you a lot these past ten days.**

You cocked your head side to side while reading the message, twice, three times, trying to understand exactly what was going on. You should be happy, it was exactly what you wanted to read after being ghosted for over a week.

There was only one problem. The DM did not come from @BostonBrains81. It came from @ChrisEvans.

You hovered your mouse over the reply button but your brain was short-circuiting. You started and deleted dozens of replies, none of them conveying what you were feeling well enough. Deceived. Betrayed.

New direct messages appeared one after the other.

                **Well, this is awkward…**

**I can explain.**

**Please talk to me.**

**Look, I was stupid for not telling you sooner but doesn’t change how I feel about you. Can we talk? Please?**

_You’re now blocking @ChrisEvans._

_You’re now blocking @BostonBrains81_


	2. Chapter 2

The heavy double-paned door opened with a jingle and a creak, letting the cool air from late November enter the small café on Arrow Street. You didn’t bother looking up from your laptop, where you read an article about penguins instead of finishing grading yesterday’s pop quiz.

Procrastinating was your new favorite pastime since decreasing your online presence. Not that it stopped the ache you still felt every time you opened Twitter to post a new article, which was the only content you shared nowadays. Gone were the jokes geared towards your students, pictures of Captain Hook, or commenting on the everyday shenanigans of the White House and Congress.

The less you shared, the less you cared, and the only reason your profile was still up was because of your job.

You checked the time on the bottom left of the screen. Professor Kincaid’s class had been canceled and you had one hour to kill before your own class started, which prompted you to run to _Bean There_ for a fresh pot of coffee and one huge Boston Cream doughnut.

As you read about penguins kidnapping other chicks if they own young died, you got wind of the murmurs and rushed voices going on around the room.  You tried to tune them out, young people got excited about anything but they seemed to get louder and louder with every passing moment. You located your bag seating by your feet and was looking for your headphones when a pair of black boot cladded feet stopped in front of you.

Pursuing your lips, you let the ears buds fall back inside the pocket but didn’t bother to look up. If your assumptions were correct, the owner of those boots was the cause for the raucous around you.

“Y/N…”

Yep, the voice and the boots belonged to the same person.

Tears made your eyes sting and you blinked to prevent them from falling. You minutely shook your head, not knowing exactly what you’re trying to convey; that this was not the place or that you’re not, would never be, ready to talk to him.

“Please. Can we talk?”

The hurt in his voice gave you pause. Why would Chris feel anything but pride at playing you as he did? Did he want to do a _coup de grâce_ to your ego?

Keeping your eyes downcast, you lowered the screen of your laptop, glad you hadn’t bothered with the power strip. Shifting the electronic around you other stuff took more time than intended but after a few tries you zippered up your bag, grabbing some money out of your wallet and dropping it on the table.

You got up and came face to face with the most muscular chest you ever saw. He was so well built that you could see the hard contours of his pecs through the thick cream sweater he was wearing. The smell of his cologne hit your nostrils and you almost swoon, finally looking up.

He shouldn’t be allowed the whole package, that was so unfair to you.

Deep blue eyes framed by thick eyelashes stared back at you, the lower half of his face covered in fine auburn whiskers that couldn’t be more than two weeks old at the most, looking so soft that you had to restrain yourself from reaching out and running the tips of your fingers through them.

“All I am asking is for a chance to explain myself.” Strong fingers reached for you, encasing your small hand in his as if he really wanted you to stay. You scoffed at the notion, this man really knew how to play you. Did he get off in toying with you?

Your scared eyes looked from his eyes to your clasped hands and back again, silently begging him to let you go. He mouthed a soundless no and stepped towards you, bridging the already small gap between your bodies.

Later, if someone asked you why you did it, you would blame your next course of action on the overwhelming need to escape.

“Look, everyone, it’s Chris Evans.”

Chris’s eyes widened and a different kind of hurt clouded his vision. Betrayal. He let your hand go.

Good. Maybe know he would understand exactly how you felt.

A round of applause broke out around the café and the whispers were now cheers. The discretely held cellphones now pointed straight at the man in front of you.

 _Move, get out_. Your feet took their sweet time obeying your brain, but soon you’re grabbing your coat and your messenger bag and making a beeline to the door, not bothering with actually putting on your coat before the full brunt of Boston’s late autumn slammed into you. You powered through, running through the streets that led you to your office, not once looking back, certain Chris would not follow.

Entering the gray building that housed Media Studies and Social Analyses, you allowed yourself to slow down and take a breath. _Safe_.

The lights stayed off when you entered your office, the loaded mahogany bookcases and dark upholstery making the room appear more ominous than it truly was.

You let your bag slide to the floor near your desk, not really bothering with damaging the electronics inside.

Heavy feet carried you to the sofa under the balcony window, where you sat with unfocused eyes, mind running a mile a minute trying to understand how your life became a drama movie in just a few short months.

What was Chris doing here? You thought you made your feelings clear when you blocked him. The pain ebbed away after a few weeks, diluted to an ache that accompanied you day and night. For a fleet moment, you had entertained the idea of a relationship with Chris. Not Evans. Just Chris, the wholesome and funny guy you got to know during those four months you spent trading messages with. But that guy didn’t exist, he was just a persona, one more character created and well played by Chris Evans. _Right?_

There was a knock and whoever was outside didn’t wait for an answer before your door was pushed open.

Professor Travis stuck his head inside your office, a scowl on his face.

“If I hear one more student going off about _the Oscar worthy drama on the media department_ I’ll flunk them and fire you, we’re not a telenovela. Fix whatever this is or convince him to stay away, I got your next class covered.”

He pushed Chris inside the dimly lighted room, raised his eyes brows pointedly at you and left, the door closing firmly behind him.

Silence stretched around you, uncomfortable and unnerving.

His hands stayed on his pockets, heavy coat looped around one arm while Chris took inventory of his surroundings before focusing on you, his gaze never wavering.

“Can I sit?”

You didn’t expect the croaked voice, nor the way it warped around your heart.

Two fingers pointed to the chairs on the other side of the center table. A safe distance, an actual barrier between you.

Of course, he decided to sidestep the table and sat opposite you on the love seat, his knee almost touching yours.

“What you did back there was treacherous and mean.” He faced forward, fingers drumming on his knees. “I guess I deserved it.”

“You did.”

“I never thought those would be the first words I’d hear you say direct to me.”

You cocked your head, not sure what to say to that.

“I mean, I thought about our first meeting, how you would be surprised but also happy I wasn’t a serial killer, just a dumb actor with too much free time on his hand.” He let a dark chuckle. “I never expected you to out me to a room filled with twenty-somethings years old and run away.”

What did he mean by thought about you? You admittedly had mulled over the idea more than once, wondering if you would click on the real world as much as you did online. Even created a list of topics you could revisit from your online conversation, mixed with silly questions you’d never asked him, like blueberry or chocolate chips on your pancakes? Could this man, so famous he couldn’t even walk into a coffee shop without being recognized, also be so committed to the idea of meeting you?

No matter. He still deceived you.

“I asked you once if you were catfishing me. You said no.”

Chris whole body faced you and he trained his eyes on you.

“I wasn’t. I looked up what that word means. I don’t fit any of those boxes. I’m not in it to hurt you. I never said I was someone else. I just never told you my last name.”

“Or who you actually were.”

He huffed.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I shared with you exactly who I was. Am. My opinions, my true likes and dislikes. I didn’t sugarcoat it or played dumb, I didn’t hide behind a forced laughed or a sound bite. You got Chris, the whole unadulterated version.” His expression hardened. “It’s not easy to open up like that when people expect you to be a certain way, act another way. Since you teach about expectations and the effects mass media has on other people, I believed you’d understand why I had to hide behind a pseudonym.”

It was not the first time you wondered what was like on the other side of the fishing lenses celebrities were under. You taught the basics of how media twisted and organized exactly how the public perceived being famous, asking your students to always remember no matter how famous someone was, there were first and foremost a human being.

“I understand why you did it, that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me.”

“I never lied to you y/n.” Chris rebuffed.

“You told me you were a flight attendant and you worked for Delta.”

“No, I didn’t. You assumed all that, I just never corrected you.”

“I…”

He was right.

You remembered all the times he changed the subject when you discussed his work and you honestly believed he was embarrassed about his job. You never asked what he did, or what he was doing in Atlanta for so long.

You felt the hot flashes of embarrassment creeping up your face and you hung your head low. Were you really so obtuse?

“I’m sorry.” A staggered breath left you. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask and assumed.”

“I have my own share of the guilty Y/N. I wanted to tell you, I wrote hundreds of messages but I could never send them. I was terrified you wouldn’t believe me before I could send you proof. And then I told you my name and it got comfortable, I wasn’t lying, just leaving out some stuff.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie in my book.” The serious tone of your voice washed over Chris and he winced.

“I got that when you blocked me.”

Once again the room was quiet save from the filtered shuffling of feet coming from the corridor.

As a true scholar, you analyzed all the information he gave you, looking for strong points and flaws on his reasoning. It all checked out. You wouldn’t have believed him. He never outright lied to you. There was only one question left unanswered.

“Why are you here Chris?”

His smile warmed you, made you want things that you shouldn’t. Images fleeted through your head, other times when he could smile to you like exactly like he was doing now.

“I’m here because I spent all summer and most of autumn inside a hot as hell costume, my hair dyed blonde, stuck inside a hangar filled with fake debris and green screens, and the only thing that kept me sane was that when I was on my breaks or done for the day I would open Twitter to a new message from you. I’m here because you were my island of calm while I drifted with anxiety.” Two fingers slid under your chin and he gently made you look at him. “I’m here because I like you.”

“You like me?”

“I do. You’re funny, wicked smart but you don’t take yourself too seriously unless you have too. You admitted to being a nerd, which if I didn’t make myself clear during the whole Hubble debacle, so am I.” He pointed to black baseball hat he was wearing and you saw the NASA logo. “On a shallower note, you’re way, way more beautiful than all my previous teachers combined. If all professors look like you, I might even give this whole college thing a try.”

Well, wasn’t he a smooth talker. Your smile now matched his.

“So do you in _like me_ like me or like me as in she’s okay?”

“Baby, you’re so far removed from okay, it might need a visa to visit you.”

The room filled with your laugh, your heart finally free of the hurt you carried the past few weeks.

He liked you.

“You’re not a nice guy.”

His smirk told you he knew exactly was this was going.

“I’m kind of an asshole.”

“I’m not denying that one.” He pouted and you wanted to kiss him. “So, not a nice a guy but not a complete asshole, so not a bad guy either.”

He got closer, his fingers playing with a loose tendril of your hair, the other hand fastening on your waist.

“That considerably narrows down your options, uh?”

His smile was contagious and you grinned back, shyly nuzzling his chest.

“How about you? You know, if you’re still interested.” You beamed at the man in front of you, bitting your lower lip.

“Let me show you how interested I am.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when his lips descended upon yours. He poured himself into the kiss, months of wanting you, feeling close but so far away. He fell for you during those late nights you stayed up texting, giving his heart and mind and receiving yours in return. He kissed you gently, slowly coaxing your mouth open, his tongue brushing yours.

He trailed his hands up your back to bring you closer and you shivered, settling contently against his chest, your fingers making their own journey to the back of his neck, brushing your hands on the hair there.

“How about that date?” Chris said against your mouth. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

“How about I cook for you instead? My house, 8pm?”

“I’ll be there.”

Disentangling yourself from his arms, you grabbed a notebook from your coffee table, writing down your address and handing it to Chris, kissing him on the cheek.

“Now go before Professor Travis forgets how much he likes us and I lose my job.”

You moved from the sofa, putting some space between both of you. You grab your bag, checking to see if your syllabus for the next class is still there.

“Y/N?”

“Uhm?” You’re sure he’s gonna kiss you again when he comes closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“One thing though.”

“What?”

The feel of his breath when he speaks so close to you gave you goosebumps. You’re ready, so ready to be kissed again.

“You gotta unblock me on Twitter. I only ever want one person to block me and believe me, you’re not him.”


End file.
